From Denver to the Statosphere
by Pereybere
Summary: Continuation of From Dulles to Denver and From Denver to Dulles. Please read previous stories! Thanks!


**Title: **From Denver to the Stratosphere

**Rating: **M baby – bring it on!

**Disclaimer: **If you could see how much money I have in my bank account you would KNOW I don't own these characters and if I was claiming to, I'd do a better cash-making job of it.

**A/N: **Okay, my bad… it seems that I left many people confused – From Denver to Dulles is a continuation of From Dulles to Denver. I recommend you read it, because the slip of paper is explained in that story! This story is a continuation of Denver to Dulles. It's centred on Skull in the Desert. I hope that straightens everything out! Oh and thank you so much for the reviews! I couldn't believe how many I got in one day!

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_Tell Bones everything_.

His simple note, scrawled in a moment of blind panic and foolish stupidity, sat in her hands – as subtle as a red neon sign. She blinked at him, silently demanding an explanation and her facial expression assured him she was losing patience.

"Well?" she snapped, shoving the note into his hand, crossing her arms across her torso. She looked hurt. Worried. He hated that a small note which could have meant anything had instilled a repressed fear within her soul. It was all his own fault.

"It's nothing…" he tried with a heavy shrug of his shoulders. Brennan growled, unclipping her seatbelt, and standing. She climbed over Angela, who opened her eyes to protest at the heel pressed against her shin. Booth pinched the top of his nose, warding off the headache that loomed so dangerously close to his eyes. "Bones!" he called, scrambling from his chair as she strode down the aisle, drawing brazen glances of curiosity from passengers along the plane.

Angela straightened in her seat as Booth climbed over her, his long legs curled into the position of a contortionist as he slipped into the aisle, moving after her, the note scrunched into a ball in his fist. Damn… he was never writing anything down again. Ever.

"Bones…" he tried again, reaching out to snag her wrist, his fingertips just brushing her skin. She jerked away, irrationally angry. How could she, the epitome of logic, make a quick assumption about what the meant, then run away – not that there were many places to run on an airborne flight – as if the world were crashing down around her.

She slipped into the bathroom and the door flew against his foot, enough force put behind the would-be slam to almost break his bones. He winced, blinded by pain. "Fuck…" he growled, his shoulder against the door, propelling it and Brennan backwards. When he met her eyes he saw no remorse, just fierce annoyance and dark hurt. "Brennan…" he began, unprepared for the hoarse, biting response.

"No. Get out." He was defiant, straightening and slamming the door behind them, much to the protest of the air steward outside, who demanded he come out at once and leave Brennan alone.

"I'm a federal agent," Booth called through the door, and he heard the shuffles of uncertainty before the steward finally relented. When Booth was sure he was gone, he turned his irritated gaze on Brennan, who sat on the toilet seat, her face expressionless. It was the lack of expression that told him she was angry beyond words and would probably claw at him in a few moments. "Bones…"

"Tell me _what_?" she hissed, her eyes changing to the most spectacular, awe inspiring shade of blue – almost liquid, the same shade as a blue flame. Gassy and with the same characteristics of something that was moments away from a devastating explosion. Booth pressed his palms to the walls that seemed to close in around him, imprisoning him with her fury. He'd be lucky to escape unscathed.

"Look, Bones, I was having a personal moment on the way here and I was going to talk about it and now I don't want to-" he turned on his heel, preparing to leave, to get out of the tiny cubicle while his throat didn't have her fingers wrapped around it.

"So you're afraid to face your feelings, then?" Brennan asked, sounding almost innocent, if there wasn't the distinct flavour of bitter reprimand on her tongue. "Would that make you… a wuss, Booth?" Hearing words like 'wuss' coming from Temperance Brennan was too retro, too modern and informed. He spun, his muscles achingly tight.

"A wuss, Bones?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sitting on the toilet, so close to Booth, Brennan felt trapped. There was barely enough space to breathe, and when he turned with slow deliberation, his knees almost touched hers. Their was mutual anxiety rustled between them, humming and buzzing in her ears. She dug her nails into her thighs, so angry that her cheeks felt hot. Tell her what? What did he want to say when he scrawled his note and stuffed it into pocket?

"Yeah," she said airily, "a wuss. Courage has deserted you now, hasn't it?" Every word she spoke seemed to hit him like a slap, and by the end of her sentence he was wincing, his mouth a grim line of impatience and annoyance. Good, she thought, at least he'd understand how much his obfuscating bothered her!

Why did it, though? She didn't understand her own reaction to the note. A hundred thoughts flew through her mind as she supposed what 'everything' meant. Had he met another woman? Was he leaving? Was he sick? Engaged? Married? Fuck, the possibilities were endless and she was certain his hesitation was only a bad thing. Whatever he was concealing from her would have devastating effects.

"I've been having feelings towards you that I cannot explain," he said and whatever she'd been expecting was far off the mark, for never in a million years would she have predicted those words. Booth winced. "And I was planning on working out what they meant myself… as it turns out, you do a pretty good job of putting a guy off…" his tone, dryly weary stung her, depicting such raw annoyance and impatience that she felt like the silly child Booth believed she was.

But the thoughts were fleeting, for beneath the surface of coy embarrassment and burning humiliation Brennan's emotions were a crazy whirlwind, whipped into a frenzy by the admission that he had feelings for her.

The plane shuddered and dipped, her breath catching in her lungs, her fingers touching the walls, bracing herself and her beating heart. Before her, Booth softened, his emotionally hardened features melted and he blinked, his eyes the colour of melted dark chocolate mixed with flecks of hazelnut.

"Are you alright?" he asked and she knew her irrational fear was the one thing that could bring him back from the brink of anger.

"Why do you have… these feelings?" she asked, digging her nails into her thighs, the pain providing her with a momentary distraction from her beating heart.

"I have no idea," he replied, trailing his fingers through his hair, the strands unruly. Behind him, a tentative rap fell upon the door.

"Are you alright ma'am?" the steward called, his tone awkward. Brennan hated that she'd made a spectacle of herself by fleeing to the bathroom in response to a stupid note. Her breath shook in her lungs.

"I'm fine," she replied, her cheeks stained red. "He probably thinks we've joined the Mile High Club," she whispered, much to Booth's amusement. She wished she hadn't spoke upon catching the wicked almost amber glint in his eyes. Her body felt hot with mortification as Booth trailed his tongue across his lips, a retort forming behind his thickly lashed, innuendo laden eyes.

"I didn't think you'd know what that was, Bones," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I can't say I am disappointed that you do." Her gaze flickered to meet his, caught off guard by both his lack of dirty suggestions and by the blatant truth with which he spoke. She inhaled, her lungs tight and her ribs aching.

Shaking off her inexplicable reaction to his perverted approval, Brennan stood, shifting to squeeze past him, the tiny cubicle seeming smaller now than ever before. Her thigh brushed him as she pressed her back to the wall, slipping towards the door. When the entire weight of him held her in place, her eyes flew to his face and her mind was quite intimidated by the brazen exhilaration she saw there.

"You're quite full of surprises aren't you, Bones?" he sighed, his voice sounding as though someone had torn through his vocal chords. Her breath shuddered within her lungs and her stomach did a flip filling her with a wave of dizziness. She could hardly breathe! He was pressed against her, breast to hip, his searing breath falling upon her blushing cheeks as his eyes raked darkly over her, dipping to her breasts, heaving with each struggling gulp of air she took.

"Are you going to let me go?" she asked, her arms tight against her side.

"Why would I do that?" Booth laughed, so close his nose almost touched hers. She squirmed against him, knowing that if she really wanted to she could use one of a few martial arts and kick his ass. But when her hip brushed his hardened erection, she realised she didn't want to move. "Have you ever tried it out, Bones?" he asked, his tongue moving across her lip, her muscles quivering at the smallest, almost insignificant touch.

"Try what?" she croaked, her breasts heavy at his proximity.

Booth smiled oozing liquid sex and the kind of appeal that women swooned over. She, however, was not the epitome of a normal woman. She was turned on by intelligence and great thinkers. Booth, well he might have been intelligent, but he did not follow the same train of thought that she was accustomed to. It surprised her how her body reacted to his sexuality. She thought she was immune to sexy men, now.

His big, dark hand brushed over her breast, his eyes bright with the spark of ignited arousal. She'd never seen him look so primal or so dangerous.

"You know what," he replied at last, his fingers passing with risky precision across the underside of her breast, urging her nipple into a tightened point beneath her shirt. Brennan had no control over the sigh that slipped beyond her lips, encouraging a grin of approval from her partner and prompting him further.

She thought of Angela, poor grieving Angela, sitting alone while Booth played her like a fucking instrument, plucking her strings and urging her repressed sexual yearnings out of their hiding place. Right into his hands.

"I think you want me," he said, the length of his erection pressed against her thigh, his mouth lingering close to hers. Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting in sweet almost torturous anticipation of his kiss. When had she developed such a thirst for Booth? She could have sworn on her own life, an hour ago, that she wasn't attracted to him. Yet, with the smallest show of interest from him she'd turned into a school girl, willing to surrender all her inhibitions if he'd just kiss her! Dammit! If he'd just kiss her and put her out of her aching misery!

When he did, the touch of his lips against hers was the catalyst her body needed for every neurone in her sexually addled brain to detonate in a powerful chemical response, making her shudder and sigh and hum all at once.

Want him she did, and as his fingertips skimmed over her collar bone, goosebumps puckered all over her skin and her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, her mouth opening, permitting him access into the blistering depths where her tongue met his, moving in a slow duel, tasting and touching with the tentative care of new lovers. She touched his chest, her fingers curling around the smooth cotton shirt while his own hands roved across her thighs, stroked along the sensitive plane of her belly, his palms cupping her breasts with the hungry greed of a man who had claimed ownership of an artefact he'd wanted badly.

She arched into him, her mental reservations about what they were doing scalding her senses yet a larger, less sensible part of her body reacted in ways she had never responded to anyone before. She was not a woman who moaned or verbally expressed approval of anything sexual – which was why she didn't understand why a murmur of appreciation fell from her mouth, into his, when his hot fingers moved beneath her shirt, cupping her breasts and moving around her pointed nipples with practised ease.

Her hips rocked as though they were dancing samba, rotating against his, shimmying as she breathlessly released his name, his hardened penis touching her torso. Her trembling hands fumbled, stroking him through his pants. It was the first point in which he seemed to lose control of his cool, deliberation. She felt his fingers tighten around her breasts, and his breathing hitched, a sure sign of his own arousal.

Bracing her body against the sturdy weight of his own, he nudged aside the wispy lace of her bra, moving his tongue over the turgid point of her nipple, laving, as though he were revelling in her taste. Her head slammed against the wall, her hips bucking and she wondered if perhaps the passengers outside the door knew what was happening – for as her breathing deepened and her moans increased in frequency, she suspected they could.

Booth knew where to touch her, he knew which parts of her body were most responsive to him, and she wondered at this inexplicable knowledge that he'd obtained.

When his hand slipped into her pants, finding her molten centre immediately, she whimpered, her throat dry and her body aching for release. Booth stroked her, circling and rubbing until she felt as though she might pass out from the need to be freed. He teased her breast with his lips, flicking her nipple with his tongue while she searched blindly for something to hold.

The tremors of release coursed through her, making her body weak and her lips tremble as she thrust against his hand.

Brennan sagged against him, her breathing laboured and her legs shaking as she sighed his name. Booth smiled, stepping back when she reached for his erection. "Another time, maybe," he said, his smirk morphing into a full grin. "Besides, when I come, it's going to be inside you."

Perhaps it was the promise he spoke or what he'd done to her, but when Brennan caught her reflection in the mirror she was stunned to see her cheeks were flushed, her hair unruly and her eyes bright to the point of luminosity. She inhaled, pressing her fevered forehead to the glass, willing her still-beating heart to be calm.

"And how do you propose we get out of here without it being blatantly obvious what we've done?" she asked, rearranging her shirt over her naked breasts. Booth smiled again and her body throbbed a little bit in response. Christ… had he turned her into an insatiable sexual monster?

"Easy," he said, looking perfectly calm, "I'm going to walk out like nothing happened."

And he did, leaving her speechless and alone, flushed and hot. Damn him! God damn him!

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Well, you wanted M, I hope this suffice. Let me know what you think!


End file.
